


Once Bitten

by mitslits



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Omega!Eggsy, Omegaverse, alpha!Harry, and the dub-con inherent with that verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9322193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: As a general rule, once an omega is bitten, they stay bitten. That's not quite how it seems to work for Eggsy. Bites disappear, and he stays unclaimed, no matter how many times he finds himself in an alpha's bed.It's a lonely existence for Eggsy Unwin.But when Harry Hart comes along, things get a little less lonely and a little more complicated.





	1. Prologue

Eggsy stares at himself in the grimy mirror, eyes hollow. He tilts his head to one side, the ring of teeth on his neck already barely visible. Almost automatically his hand reaches up, fingertips just skimming over it. He can still feel every second of it, the alpha’s breath hot on his face, his teeth sinking into Eggsy’s exposed flesh, that empty feeling tugging inside of Eggsy’s gut.

Eggsy’s hand falls away and he straightens, not really wanting to look at the mark anymore. Or think about it. It’ll be gone soon enough anyways. 

Turning away from the mirror he runs a hand through his hair and sucks in a breath. He yanks open the bathroom door and heads for the main one, pointedly not looking at the figure still lying in the bed.  

The alpha stirs as Eggsy slips on his shoes, sitting up and blinking at him blearily. “Where you goin’?” he mumbles, and that hollow feeling in Eggsy’s stomach intensifies.

“Don’t matter. Away,” he says simply, shrugging into his jacket.

That seems to wake the man up and he shoots him a look that’s half scorn, half disbelief. “No, you aren’t. In case it slipped your mind, I claimed you last night. You’re mine now.”

Eggsy’s top lip curls into a sneer. He sneaks a quick glance at the clock, mentally tallies up the hours. “Bruv,” he says, tugging his shirt collar away from his neck to put it on display, “I ain’t no one’s.” He doesn’t wait for a response, instead tugging open the door and walking into the chill morning air, leaving the alpha and the seedy hostel behind. He can’t help but bring his fingers to his neck again as he trudges across the car park. He digs them under his collar, sweeps them over the skin there. It’s as smooth and unmarked as the day he was born.

-

Trying to convince himself that loitering around the pub and waiting for it to open isn’t  _ actually _ as pathetic as it seems, Eggsy sighs and buries his hands in his pockets. He kicks at a rock lying on the pavement and it goes skidding off, clattering to a halt a couple feet away. His eyes close and his head falls back against the bricks with a soft thud.

He tries to remember how many this makes. Seven? No, seven was a pretty ginger girl with bright green eyes and a smattering of freckles over skin even paler than his. She’d been nice, someone he thought he actually wouldn’t mind belonging to. Of course, he’d been ducking out the next morning as usual, not a tooth mark to be seen.

Eight, maybe? No, eight had been an alpha’s alpha, big, hulking, and absolutely drenched in pheromones. Eggsy had thought that surely, if anyone’s bond would stick, it would be number eight’s.

Nine, then.

He needs a drink.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry’s back thuds against the wall, bullets pelting the ground around him. He hasn’t got long; this alcove can only afford him so much cover and his enemies are closing in quickly. Too quickly. One of them rounds the corner and he moves without thinking, elbow snapping out and connecting with his temple. 

 

The man drops to the ground instantly, but there’s another one right on his heels. He nearly trips over his downed coworker’s body, recovering just in time to acquaint his nose with Harry’s fist. Blood spews from the man’s nostrils and he staggers backwards a pace, colliding with a woman behind him. 

 

She growls, shoving him out of the way and leveling her gun right at Harry’s chest. 

 

The bullet hits its target right on and Harry’s breath is driven out of his lungs. His suit has absorbed most of the impact, but he can feel one hell of a bruise blossoming over his ribs. That’s going to be a bitch later. He takes advantage of the woman’s shock that he’s still on his feet to grab the barrel of her gun, hauling it upwards and stepping in close. 

 

He drives her head into the wall and she crumples, grip going limp and allowing him to secure the gun easily. He skids around the corner back the way he’d come, mowing his other adversaries down in a hail of gunfire. He only incapacitates most of them, bullets smacking into their shoulders or kneecaps, enough to keep them from pursuing him.  

 

“Was that really necessary?” Merlin mutters in his ear.

 

Harry smirks, jogging back around the corner and dancing gracefully out of reach of the man with the bloodied nose. Without missing a beat Harry reverses his hold on the gun, slamming the butt of it into the man’s sternum and sending him to his knees gasping. “They pissed me off,” he says, a slow ache already spreading over his ribs.

 

It’s not much of a defense, but Merlin doesn’t do anything more than sigh, the sound coming in as static over Harry’s comms. “They’ve disabled their security cameras further on,” Merlin warns him, refocusing on their mission. “I can’t see what they’re doing, but they won’t be able to see you coming either, provided you’re quiet about it.” 

 

Harry lets out a soft grunt of acknowledgement, sending his knee crashing into the gasping man’s jaw. 

 

The man sprawls to the floor unconscious. 

 

Harry flicks the safety back on the gun, not keen on giving away his position with a stray gunshot. He makes it a few more feet before Merlin’s, “Quiet now,” has him creeping along warily, eyes flicking from side to side. He abandons the gun at that point; it certainly won’t help him keep his presence concealed. 

 

The first guard Harry comes across is, thankfully, facing away from him and it’s an easy enough matter to circle an arm around his throat and choke him out until he lolls limply against him. Lowering the guard to the floor, Harry moves further on. He isn’t so lucky the next time. The second guard gets out an aborted cry of warning before Harry’s fingers jab his trachea and he clutches desperately at his throat. 

 

It’s too late. They’ve heard him and he can hear the tramp of many booted feet headed his way. So much for ‘stealth mission.’ Cursing, Harry throws himself into the nearest room, locking the door to give himself an extra second to breathe. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and freezes. He isn’t alone.

 

Cautiously, Harry turns, the faint light coming in through the room’s window illuminating the scene. He appears to have barrelled into a bedroom. It’s decorated lavishly, plush carpeting on the floor, a large, four-poster bed dominating the room.

 

An omega girl stares at him with frightened eyes, huddled in one corner of the bed. She’s young, pretty too, at least going off of what little Harry can see of her. Blonde hair spills across her shoulders, partially obscuring the bite mark on her neck. Blue eyes flash towards the door as something thuds against the other side of it; they dart back to Harry as he takes a step away from it, a step closer to her. 

 

“Hello,” Harry says, ignoring another thump against the door. It won’t hold long, but he doesn’t let that bother him. He can’t afford distractions if he wants to get out of here alive. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures her and she narrows her eyes in distrust. She’s heard that before, then. “My name’s Harry. I’ve come to get you out.” 

 

A bald-faced lie, but it comes out smooth as honey and his face gives away nothing. 

 

“What’s your name?” Harry presses, the last half of the question almost drowned out by the splintering of wood. Whatever they’re battering the door with, it’s proving to be quite effective. 

 

Her gaze fixes on the space behind him and she swallows forcibly. “Til… Tilde,” she finally breathes and Harry’s mouth splits in a charming grin. 

 

“Tilde. I can help get you out of here, if you let me. Would you like that?” The splintering sound only gets louder but still Harry doesn’t tense, stays as relaxed as he’s always been. 

 

There’s no hesitation this time. Tilde nods enthusiastically and the suspicion starts melting off her face. What could this man do to her that’s worse than what she’s already endured? 

 

Harry stretches out a hand towards her just as the sharp edge of an axe punctures the door, light from the hallway outside spilling into the room. “All you have to do is take my hand.” 

 

She slips her hand into his as the first man barges inside, rifle at the ready. 

 

Harry’s grip on Tilde tightens and he whirls around behind her, the knife he’d stowed inside his jacket pricking the soft skin underneath her chin, forcing her head backwards. He pins her arms behind her, ignoring her short yelp of surprise, ignoring the fear he can feel in every line of her body as he holds her close. “One more move and she dies.” 

 

It’s a bit of a gamble but he can see he guessed right by the sudden hesitance the guard displays. Such nice quarters would only be given to a favored omega, someone the guard’s employer obviously holds in high regard. More guards spill in behind the first, but he barks a harsh, “Hold your fire!” before turning smoldering eyes on Harry. “What do you want?” he hisses. 

 

One of Harry’s eyebrows quirk up. “I want you to lower your gun. And tell your men to do the same.” 

 

A muscle twitches in the guard’s jaw. For a second he doesn’t move. 

 

The tip of the knife digs further into Tilde. She whimpers as a slow trickle of blood winds down her throat. 

 

The guard curses, pointing his gun at the floor and ordering his men to do the same. 

 

“Much appreciated,” Harry says, that brilliant smile back on his face. “Now I’d like you to clear a path for me out of this door and allow me to leave unharmed, if you’d be so kind.” 

 

Scowling, the guard does as he’s asked, waving his men off as Harry shuffles forwards, dragging Tilde with him. 

 

Harry’s careful not to deepen the cut; effective as the display might be he has no real desire to hurt her. He pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed as if in thought. “I’ll also take directions to the nearest exit.” He knows where it is already, Merlin’s blueprints were extensive, but he needs them to think that’s where he’s headed. 

 

Merlin recites it along with him, voice low in Harry’s ear. “The end of this hallway, take a right. Another right and then it’s the second door along.” 

 

Harry gives him a stiff nod, Tilde following along helplessly as he hauls her down the hallway and they go off to the right. He can feel the guard’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head the whole way but they won’t risk firing and hitting their employer’s prized omega. 

 

After they’re out of eyeshot, Harry drops the knife, stowing it back inside his jacket. “Terribly sorry about all that,” he grimaces, eyeing the small nick in her throat. He relaxes his hold on her wrists enough to allow her blood to flow freely again, half expecting her to take the opportunity to try and break free. 

 

But she remains meek, submission drilled into her since birth, has no desire to rebel against her new circumstances. 

 

Sighing, Harry digs the handkerchief out of his breast pocket with his free hand, offering it to her. “Take it,” he says when she makes no move to do so. Eventually he has to press it into her hand himself, trying to quell his irritation. None of this is her fault, after all.

 

Only then does she lift the small, white square up to her throat. When she hands it back, it’s stained crimson, and he shoves it into the pocket of his trousers. They continue on down the hallway until they reach the split, one corridor stretching off to the left, the other to the right. He steers them down the left one, mentally tracing the path to Anthony Rickards, the reason he’s here in the first place. 

 

“Didn’t you want to get out?” Tilde asks, the first words she’s said since he captured her. 

 

Harry shakes his head grimly, trusting her to sense the movement even if she can’t see it. “I have some unfinished business with your alpha.” 

 

The closer they get to Anthony’s bedroom, the more agitated Tilde seems to get. Each exhale becomes a whimper, her pace quickening as if she’s actually eager to see him. 

 

The effects of their bond, Harry supposes. He just hopes similar effects aren’t stirring Anthony. He would much prefer to catch him off guard. 

 

Luck finally decides to be on his side. They slip into the bedroom silently, Harry clapping a hand over Tilde’s mouth to stifle the whimper she lets out when she spots his sleeping form. Harry reaches for his handkerchief, fully intending to gag her, when his fingers brush against an empty pocket. Inwardly cursing, he remembers stuffing the bloodied thing in his trouser pockets. 

 

Against his better judgement, he leans forward so that his lips are nearly brushing her ear, voice little more than a low, threatening growl. “Not a sound, do you understand?” He waits until he gets a half-frantic nod before removing his hand. He lingers another couple seconds, waiting to see if she’ll try and call out, but Tilde just presses her lips together, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to another. 

 

He wastes no time crossing over to the bed, already reaching for the gun at his hip.  _ Eliminate the target _ thumps through his brain in time with his pulse as he carefully pulls back the covers. 

 

Anthony Rickards sleeps peacefully, unaware of the danger right beside him. Like this, he hardly looks capable of operating one of the biggest crime rings in London, but Kingsman intel is rarely wrong. 

 

Harry levels his gun at his head, finger on the first trigger. He hears a stifled gasp and shoots Tilde a glare.  

 

She’s already pressing a hand to her mouth to prevent anything more from getting out. 

 

Deciding that waiting any longer would be too risky, Harry squeezes the trigger. The bullet thuds into Anthony’s skull, his body going completely limp. 

 

Tilde lets out a piercing, ear-splitting shriek, crumpling to her knees. 

 

Harry whips around, halfway intent on shooting her too, but her face is screwed up in agony, fingers clawing at the bite mark on her neck, and he figures she really can’t help it. 

 

“They’ll have heard that,” Merlin says, voice heavy with reproof. “You should have incapacitated her.” 

 

It’s time to go. Harry doesn’t waste any time responding to Merlin, just starts forward at a jog, grabbing at Tilde as he passes. He hauls her to her feet, ignoring her gasps of pain. “If you want to get out of here, we have to go. _ Now. _ ” 

 

She sucks in a deep breath through her nose, squinting at him through tear-filled eyes before nodding. “I’m okay,” she manages to say. She’s still picking nervously at the teeth marks, but he’ll worry about that later. For now, they have their hands full getting out. 

 

“Merlin, I need an alternate escape route,” he mutters, already heading out of the bedroom. Tilde stumbles after him and he wraps a hand around her wrist to steady her. 

 

“There’s a window at the end of this corridor. It’s a two-story drop, but you shouldn’t run into anyone,” Merlin informs him, eyes flitting to the cameras where he’s watching guards rapidly close in on the pair. “I suggest you leave now.” 

 

Harry takes off for the window, trusting Tilde to follow along. “Window,” he says, tossing the word over his shoulder. 

 

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t protest; she, too, can hear the sounds of pursuit growing louder with each passing second. 

 

This is not the first time Harry has launched himself out of a window, but it  _ is _ the first time he’s had someone else to worry about. He reaches the glass, takes a quick peek through to get a feel for what terrain he’ll be landing on (grass, thankfully), and whirls to face Tilde. She looks terrified but there’s nothing for it. She doesn’t have a future here, not now that Anthony’s dead. “When I call for you, jump. I’ll catch you.”

Tilde has no choice but to trust him so she steels herself, nodding. 

 

Harry waits for that small sign of confirmation before shoving the window up. Footsteps pound closer and closer. He only takes a second to crouch on the sill and make sure he knows where to jump. He’d rather not end up in a shrub. Then he’s falling through the air, tucking into himself and rolling as soon as he hits the ground, sparing his ankles. The breath is forced out of his chest and getting the grass stains out of his suit is going to be a bitch, but he’s unhurt. He forces himself to his feet, moving to stand under the window. “Jump!” 

 

Harry’s call comes just as the first guard rounds the corner. The guard aims his rifle at Tilde, ordering her to stop, stay where she is. 

 

Her head whips between him and Harry, waiting for her on the ground with his arms outstretched. Without giving herself time to think, Tilde leaps, sailing downwards. Her journey is soon arrested and she hears a soft ‘oof’ from her strange rescuer. 

 

Harry helps her find her feet and then they take off across the lawn, bullets nipping at their heels. “Anytime you can set up an extraction would be lovely, Merlin,” Harry huffs, never having really recovered his breath from his trip out of the window. 

 

“There will be a line of hedges coming up in a moment marking the edge of Rickards’ property. There’s a road just on the other side of it; a car will be waiting for you there,” Merlin says almost immediately. 

 

Sure enough they come upon a line of hedges, Harry vaulting over them gracefully. He lands in a crouch on the other side, the low rumble of an engine reaching his ears. Flashing a quick sign at the driver to wait, he turns to help Tilde over the mess of shrubbery as well, hauling her up and looping an arm around her waist as they make for the car.

 

The door barely has time to swing shut behind them before the driver takes off, putting as much distance between them and their pursuers as he can. This gives Harry his first opportunity to get a good look at Tilde since their mad dash from the house started. He grimaces, not at all encouraged by what he sees. 

 

Tilde’s face is pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her eyes gleaming fever-bright and underscored with dark purple. Trembling hands sit in her lap, picking at a fraying thread as if they have to be doing something. Her lips move, forming words Harry can’t hear. Even as he watches a shudder wracks through her whole frame and her fingers curl into fists. She wraps her arms around her abdomen, a broken moan falling from her lips as she pulls into herself, breath coming faster. 

 

“Merlin,” Harry mutters, tapping the side of the glasses. “What’s going on?” 

 

“You severed her bond. Rather abruptly, I might add. It’s a miracle she made it as far as this. She should be fine after a few hours and some rest, but I would still prefer to get her in medical as soon as possible,” Merlin says, watching the woman through Harry’s feed. 

 

Harry acknowledges the order before cutting the comms link. He keeps a wary eye on Tilde as they speed forward, the scent of her distress souring the air. 

 

Tilde seems to calm somewhat as the minutes tick by, her breath evening out into a normal pattern, a bit of color coming back into her cheeks. By the time the car slides to a halt she even manages to get out and stand on her own. Her hands are still trembling, but she crosses her arms over her chest, hiding it. 

 

“Where are we?” she asks, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. 

 

Harry offers a hand out to her, letting her lean on him as he leads her towards the medical bay. “Kingsman,” he says simply. “You’ll be safe here for as long as you need to stay.” He doesn’t offer any more of an explanation and she looks like she’s too weary to care, letting him guide her through the maze of passageways. 

 

Merlin must have alerted the medical staff to their situation; a doctor greets them at the door, already scribbling notes on a clipboard. He runs a practiced eye over Tilde, her spine straightening under his scrutiny. Whatever he sees has him nodding, and he turns to Harry. “Galahad. Merlin’s waiting for your debriefing,” he tells him. 

 

Harry’s arm falls away and Tilde glances back at him, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. He gives her a small nod of encouragement and she takes a few tentative steps forward, eyes fixed warily on the doctor. 

 

The doctor is careful not to touch her, just ushers her forward, leading her deeper into the medical maze. She throws one last look at Harry over her shoulder before they turn the corner and disappear from view. 

 

As soon as she’s out of sight, Harry turns on his heel and begins to make his way to his own office. Just as he suspected, Merlin is already waiting for him, the technician settled comfortably in Harry’s chair. Two glasses of scotch are already set out on his desk. A smirk tugs at one corner of Harry’s mouth and he drops into the guest’s chair, merely raising an eyebrow. Neither of them say anything until Harry has taken a swig of the scotch, rolling it over his tongue appreciatively. “So,” he finally says. He swirls the glass, the ice clinking softly, “Who’s our new guest?” 

 

With a few swipes of his fingers, Merlin pulls something up on his tablet, pushing it over towards Harry. “Scandinavian royalty,” he explains. “Crown Princess Tilde has been missing for the past few years, abducted on her way to a meeting of the United Nations, apparently by Rickards. We’ve alerted the proper officials. She’ll be staying here until they come to retrieve her.”

 

Harry nods absently, reading through what information they have for her. Deceased brother had led to her ascension, bonded once, current status: safe and secure. He hands the tablet back over to Merlin, draining the rest of his glass in one go. “I assume you’ll be wanting details,” he mutters, more than ready to get home.

 

Merlin pushes back from the desk, standing and smiling down at him innocently. “Tell them to the paperwork,” he says, tapping a stack of papers in Harry’s inbox. 

 

Harry groans. 

-

By the time Harry makes his way home, fatigue is dragging at his limbs and all he wants is to collapse into bed. He forces himself to take stock of his injuries, a habit born from many years of service. His shoulder and side throb from where he landed on them after his jump out of the window, but when he slowly unwraps himself from his suit he can see they haven’t even bruised. Color blossoms along his ribs, though, spiraling out from the point of his chest where he was shot. Even just thinking about it brings the pain back in a wave, and he gives up on the idea of trying to get himself back into a shirt. Altogether something he’ll recover from, not nearly the worst he’s had. 

 

Harry can barely keep his eyes open as he goes about his nightly routine, slipping into a pair of soft flannels and carefully putting up his suit. He’s asleep nearly as soon as his head hits the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

The beeping of his glasses is the absolute last thing Harry wants to hear on his day off. Technically, agents are supposed to get a 24 hour retention period after returning from a field mission, but most of them don’t adhere that strictly to the rules anyways. Much as Harry wishes this was the one area where they’d make an exception, the tone continues, insistent that he answer. 

 

His sheets rustle as he sits up, groping groggily for his frames and settling them on his nose before activating the comm link. “It’s too bloody early for this,” he mutters, side-eying his alarm clock. 

 

“Good morning to you as well, Galahad. I thought you might want to know how your princess is doing,” Merlin says, sounding entirely too awake. “She’s looking much better after a night of rest and Doctor Cayden expects she’ll make a full recovery somewhere within the next week.”  

 

Harry lets out a breath slowly. “Merlin,” he says, tone deliberate, “tell me you did not wake me up at seven in the  _ fucking _ morning to inform me that everything is well and good.” 

 

On the other hand, Harry doesn’t really want to get pulled into a crisis either. 

 

Merlin hardly hesitates before speaking again. “Of course not. I need someone for surveillance. I was hoping that someone could be you.” 

 

“For fuck’s sake, it’s my-” 

 

“Day off, I’m aware. But I would prefer to have eyes on him sooner rather than later. I was going to send Bors, but he’s still in his bonding stage and can’t leave his omega.” Merlin falls quiet, the slight sound of his fingers drumming filling the background. 

 

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and sucking in another deep breath. “I’ll come,” he finally says, choosing not to acknowledge the slight sound of triumph he hears through the line. He cuts the connection, tossing his glasses back onto the nightstand and giving himself a moment to just breathe. 

 

Eventually he throws back the covers, staggering towards the bathroom to get ready for his definitively not day off. 

 

-

 

Harry doesn’t even let Merlin into his office until he’s done nursing a cup of tea. He takes his time about it too, savoring the irate look on Merlin’s face when Harry finally opens the door. 

 

“I’m going to assume you just didn’t hear me knocking,” Merlin growls, pushing his way into the room and stalking over to his desk. There’s a portfolio tucked under his arm and he waits until Harry has taken a seat to hand it over to him. 

 

Curiosity overwhelms Harry’s desire to continue pissing Merlin off. Whatever Harry’s been called in for, it must be interesting. He flips open the manila folder, a wall of documents staring back at him. 

 

A small, grainy photo in the corner of one page depicts a young man, smiling over at one of his companions as he’s exiting a pub. 

 

“And who might this be?” Harry mutters, even though the name ‘Gary Unwin’ is printed right next to it. A name isn’t exactly what Harry’s looking for, interesting as it might be. He skims the rest of the information but none of it gives any indication as to why Merlin seems so interested in him. Harry glances up at him, one eyebrow cocked. “Unwin?” 

 

Merlin nods. “Lee’s boy,” he confirms. “Probably would have proposed him himself if he’d lived. And if the boy wasn’t an omega.”  

 

“Tell me, Merlin,” Harry says, his already thin patience stretching even further, “what about Lee’s boy has caught your eye after  _ seventeen _ years?”

 

“It wasn’t  _ my _ eye he caught,” Merlin protests, settling himself on one corner of Harry’s desk. “Kay spotted him the other day while he was undercover in the Black Prince. A pub,” he clarifies when all he gets is a blank stare. “According to Kay, Gary here went off with an alpha, seemed to be getting on with him rather well.” 

 

Harry’s face falls from slightly interested to completely unamused. “If this is supposed to be a suggestion, Merlin, I’ve already made my feelings on bonding  _ quite _ clear,” he says, an undercurrent of anger running through his voice. 

 

Merlin holds up a hand to forestall him. “You’re not interested, I know. That’s not my point.” 

 

“You might want to get to that sooner rather than later,” Harry sighs, thinking wistfully of the bed he’s been forced to abandon. 

 

Merlin reaches over to pull another paper out of the portfolio, his expression softening into something that might be pity. 

 

It’s a full-page photo, Eggsy brought into sharp focus. He obviously wasn’t aware the picture was being taken; he’s seated in a booth, chin propped into his hand and staring blankly at the empty seat across from him. 

 

“This was taken yesterday.  _ After _ Kay saw him with the alpha,” Merlin says, voice thick with meaning. 

 

Harry peers closer at the picture, certain he must be missing something. Eventually he has to admit defeat and he glances back up at Merlin, shrugging one shoulder. 

 

Letting out a clipped sound of frustration, Merlin stabs his finger at Eggsy’s neck, put well on display by the stretch of his chin. “What don’t you see, Harry?” 

 

It finally dawns on him. “A bite,” he says, a nod confirming that he’s gotten the answer Merlin was looking for. “That still doesn’t explain why you’ve dragged me in here at this unholy hour,” he mutters. “So the Unwin boy goes off with an alpha and comes back without a bite. That doesn’t mean anything.” Irritation surges inside him again. 

 

“No, you’re right. That on its own would mean nothing,” Merlin confesses. “But,” he adds, noting a muscle twitching in Harry’s jaw, “I had Kay intercept the alpha after he’d spotted Gary again. He swears he bit him, said they bonded the night before and Gary walked out on him the next morning.” 

 

Harry’s brow furrows and he looks at Merlin, disbelief written all over his face. “Really, Merlin. I know betas don’t know the finer points of bonding, but surely even you’re aware that when an omega is bitten, they stay that way,” he says, edging dangerously close to condescension.

 

Merlin stands abruptly, glaring down at Harry. “I know how bonding works, Harry. That’s why I’m putting you on observation. Your job is to tail him for a few days, or weeks, or months, however long it takes for him to fall into bed with another alpha. I want to know everything that happens after that, if he gets bitten, if the mark stays, everything. Is that understood?” 

 

“A bit of an insult to my capabilities, but understood,” Harry says, folding his arms over his chest. At least he’ll get a few days off of field missions, but this reconnaissance seems pointless. Kay must have been mistaken about something and in all likelihood this will amount to nothing more than wasted time. Still, Merlin has spoken and he must be obeyed. “Is that all?” Harry asks, already running through a checklist of things he’ll need. 

 

“That’s all,” Merlin assures him, wandering towards the door. “Don’t make me wait too long for proof that you’ve started tailing him.” With that he’s gone, disappearing to coordinate dozens of other missions and leaving Harry to his.  

 

Idly, Harry rifles through the pages of the file again, studying up on Gary Unwin. 

 

Gary seems like the typical, unbonded omega. Unemployed, stuck at home with his parents, no higher education and no desire for it either, from all appearances. 

 

Harry sighs, gathering the papers together and stuffing them back into the file, already resigned to the boredom that always comes with observation. 

 

Targets rarely do anything interesting until whatever plot they were involved in thickened, but there is no plot here. Just a rumor from an agent who may or may not have been inebriated when he made his initial report, and a follow up with an alpha who Harry couldn’t give two shits about. Looks like this is going to be a slow day after all. 


	4. Chapter 4

The colliding scent of so many bodies is oppressive and Harry wishes Eggsy had a more refined taste when it came to his usual hangouts. The small pub is particularly crowded at this hour, the normal workday drawing to an end, groups of people bustling in to get away from the chill evening air. Friday nights tend to pull in the younger crowds and Harry’s already had to sidestep several enthusiastic teenagers locked together in drunken embraces. 

 

He’s managed to wedge himself into a corner of the room that gives him a decent view of the door, the drink he’s been nursing for the past half hour nearly gone. He drains the last of it a few minutes later. He gives the room a quick once-over as he tilts his head back to get the dregs and  _ still _ there’s no sign of Eggsy. 

 

There’s little doubt in Harry’s mind that the boy will show up eventually. At this point it’s just a question of whether or not he’ll start to seem suspicious before it happens. 

 

Another quarter of a glass has disappeared by the time a familiar face bustles through the entrance, a sour look on the young omega’s face. He winds his way through the crush of bodies expertly, squeezing in at the bar to place his order, and glancing around casually as he waits. 

 

Harry buries his face in his glass, angling away from him. Eggsy’s eyes skate over him and Harry pays close attention to who they finally settle on. 

 

Sharp, red-painted nails flash as she lifts a glass to her lips, teeth gleaming white in her dark-skinned face. She grins at whatever her companion has just said. 

 

Out of habit Harry takes her in. Full lips turn up naturally at the corners, giving off the impression of someone with a good sense of humor. Her dark eyes seal onto the object of her attention, lending her a sense of driving intensity. Her pencil skirt and blouse suggest she’s in a fairly well-to-do job and has probably just gotten off of work meaning her companion is most likely just a coworker. It explains why she’s caught Eggsy’s eye, at least. 

 

Harry closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath and narrowing his focus. He burrows through the haze of scents until he locks onto hers. She’s an alpha, no doubt about that. Not far from rut either, if the thickness of it is any indication. He blinks them open again, gaze flicking from her to Eggsy. 

 

The omega is already making his way towards her, drink in hand. Harry stays just long enough to watch him engage her in conversation before he slaps down a few pounds and slips out of the pub. He relaxes a bit once he’s out in the open air again, digging a cigarette out of his pocket. He takes up residence under a light post on the opposite side of the street, and, shoulders hunched against the wind, he lights it up, looking for all the world like just another businessman appreciating one last smoke break before going home for the night.

 

Harry’s mind drifts back to Lee as he waits. The man had been Kingsman material through and through, sharp reflexes and a quick mind landing him in the final two candidates. The grenade blast that had taken his life should have been preventable, but Harry hadn’t caught it in time and now… Now Merlin has plans for his son, even if Harry doesn’t actually know what they might be yet. 

 

That fact doesn’t quite sit easy with him but he has enough trust in Merlin to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

 

Harry is mentally reviewing Eggsy’s file when the woman he’d seen before steps out of the pub, holding the door open until Eggsy joins her. They take a few steps away from the entrance and Harry drops the butt of the cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the pavement with his heel. His movements are hurried, not enough to draw attention to himself, but enough to ensure he doesn’t lose them. 

 

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried. They barely make it to the end of the block before they pause, the woman tracing a fingertip down Eggsy’s jaw and tugging him into a brief kiss. It continues on that way for a while, Eggsy and the alpha stopping each block, their hands wandering down each others’ arms, backs, hips as they walk. By the time they reach a small, quaint building it’s bordering on indecent and Harry has to keep swallowing down a smirk. 

 

The house they stop in front of looks innocent enough from the outside, but all the regulars in the neighborhood know it for what it is. Bonding houses had long ago been made illegal under the justification that they encouraged promiscuity but they are nearly everywhere if one knows where to look. Apparently, Eggsy isn’t the first omega this woman has wanted to get to know better. 

 

She tugs him inside, Eggsy following after with little resistance. 

 

Harry waits until the door closes behind them completely before crossing over to it with a leisurely stroll. He lingers outside for a moment longer, then heads in after them, the door swinging shut with a soft click. It’s almost completely dark, a few dim lights dotting the long hallway stretching before him. He can see a staircase at the end of it, a few doors set into either side of the wall before it. 

 

The one closest to the entrance opens and he turns to face the small woman that comes out, instantly sinking into his role. His shoulders straighten, hands curling into loose fists, dark anger flaring in his eyes. 

 

“Hello, sir. Name’s Rowena, but I’m sure you’re not here for small talk. You’re here alone, yeah?” the owner of the establishment asks, her dark hair streaked with gray and her face lined with age. She’s been at this game a long time from the looks of things. That will make things easier for Harry; she’s less likely to be taken by surprise. 

 

“I’m looking for someone,” he growls, eyes scything along the row of closed doors. He’s grateful he thought to take scent suppressors. An alpha wasn’t likely to lose their omega, but a beta could easily have a partner swayed by the prospect of actually being bonded. 

 

Rowena grimaces. “I’ll get the ledger, find out what room they’re in for you. Wait here a tick.” She disappears into her office just as Harry had suspected she would. She won’t want to risk upsetting him by trying to throw him out. She can’t afford any attention from the cops. 

 

Harry counts off a few seconds before deciding he’s waited long enough to get impatient, striding forwards and banging on the second door along the corridor. He hears a couple of startled yelps from inside and he grabs the doorknob, jiggling it. “I know you’re in there,” he snaps. “Fucking slut!” 

 

Rowena’s head whips out of her office, anger stamped into her face. “Sir!” she hisses, stalking towards him. “I’m going to have to ask you be civil about this.” 

 

But she doesn’t have a leg to stand on and they both know it. Harry’s not a paying customer and he’d be well within his rights to bring the law down on their heads right then and there. As far as she knows, anyways. “I know he’s in here,” Harry growls right back, but he releases his grip on the doorknob. 

 

“All my customers are upstairs,” Rowena grits out, her diminutive stature barely able to contain her rage. 

 

Before she can say anything else, Harry is making for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. He can hear Rowena scrambling behind him, unwilling to lose a whole night of business. Harry plants himself at the top of the landing, pounding his fist against the nearest wall hard enough to set all the doors rattling in their frames. “Everybody out!” he roars. “You’re going to get what’s fucking coming to you when I find you, Jonathan.” 

 

Rowena’s beside him in an instant, glaring daggers up at him. If looks could kill, Harry would most certainly be a dead man. 

 

“Every! Body! Out!” he repeats, slamming the wall again with each word. 

 

Doors creak open reluctantly, couples stumbling out into the halls, bleary-eyed and half-dressed, swapping confused looks with each other. 

 

Harry tugs the brim of his hat just a bit lower, swathing his face in shadow. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to catch on the object of his interest. 

 

Eggsy stands in one doorway, peeking out behind the sable shoulder of his companion. He has a sheet wrapped haphazardly around his waist, leaving little to the imagination. His chest and shoulders are bare and there, tucked into the curve of his neck, is a crescent-shaped bite mark. 

 

Harry stiffens, seemingly taken aback at not finding his companion there. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, casting an apologetic down at Rowena. 

 

She looks thoroughly unamused, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Sorry for this disturbance,” Rowena says, turning to face her bewildered customers. “You’ll all be refunded as compensation for this... lack of propriety.” 

 

Confusion turns to irritation and most of them slink back into the rooms, muttering to themselves or their partners. Eggsy’s alpha disappears into their room, Eggsy himself lingering in the doorway. His narrowed eyes stay fixed on the shadowy figure until a hand wraps around his wrist and guides him back in. 

 

Harry slips seamlessly into the part of a fool, clearing his throat and shuffling awkwardly. “I must apologize for my behavior,” he mutters, careful not to meet Rowena’s gaze. It’s not difficult. He can feel her eyes on him like blazing coals, bringing a slight flush to his cheeks. After a second, he tugs out his wallet, pulling out three hundred pounds and offering them to her. “Perhaps we could just forget this ever happened?” 

 

Rowena doesn’t let him off that easily. She keeps Harry pinned under her gaze for a long, silent minute before she accepts the bills, stuffing them into her pocket. “Now, sir, I’d appreciate it if you left,” she says, voice stony. 

 

Muttering another quick apology or two, Harry makes his way towards the staircase, stumbling back down and hurrying out before Rowena decides to give him a real tongue-lashing. As soon as he’s outside, he sheds the persona, standing tall, his strides lengthening into longer, more confident ones. He reaches up to tap the sides of his glasses twice, stopping the recording and opening up his link to Merlin. “Did you get all that?” he asks quietly, glancing around to make sure there’s no one around who might overhear him. 

 

“I did,” Merlin confirms. “We know for a fact he’s been bitten. Now we just have to see if he stays that way.”  

 


	5. Chapter 5

Days off, as it turns out, are not nearly as exciting as Harry remembers. He wakes up bright and early at seven A.M. and he’s absolutely going to blame Merlin for that. As the day wears on, he also decides to blame Merlin for his boredom. 

 

It was Merlin, after all, who suggested they wait twenty-four hours before checking up on Gary again. Both to give the bite time to fade, if it would, and to let any memories Gary might have of Harry wash away, with the added bonus of Harry stopping his complaints about never getting a vacation.

 

Harry wanders his house restlessly, eventually settling in on the sofa with a bottle of whiskey and a novel he’s been meaning to get to for a while. After a few pages, he realizes he can’t recall a single word he’s read and gives it up as a lost cause. Inaction doesn’t suit him well. He takes to the streets, letting his feet take him where they will.

 

They turn Harry in the direction of The Black Prince, bring him deeper into the side of London he’s never really gotten to know. He gets to know it now, crossing through back alleys and rough areas that would be a threat to anyone but him. Alphas sneer at him as he passes, scents laced with drugs meant to inspire a more feral nature. The only omegas he sees duck into doorways as he goes by, automatically turning away their faces. 

 

Except for one. Harry’s step nearly falters when he spots him, but he manages to recover quickly enough that he doubts anyone notices, least of all the object of his attention. For a moment, Harry wonders if he’s mistaken. Then the younger man turns more in his direction and Harry knows his first guess was correct. 

 

Eggsy leans against a lightpost, one foot propped up on the pole, the other extended in front of him, holding his weight and showing off the hard lines of his body. His hips are canted slightly forward, the suggestive pose leaving little room to wonder what he’s doing. Jeans that look practically painted on and a tight, white T-shirt only serve to solidify Harry’s suspicions. 

 

Harry can’t see whether or not the bite is still there; evening is falling and Eggsy is swathed in shadow, but there wouldn’t be much point in standing out here if he was already bonded. Still, it won’t be confirmation enough for Merlin, Harry knows that much. 

 

As if sensing that he’s being watched Eggsy perks up slightly, head swiveling to see the source. 

 

Instantly Harry withdraws, turning his back and heading off the way he came.

 

-

 

The next evening sees Harry swallowing down a couple more scent suppressors and wading back into the drunken masses of The Black Prince. He claims a booth this time, his grip around his pint of Guinness white-knuckled and his shoulders hunched to ensure nobody wants to come near him. 

 

Harry’s closed-off posture doesn’t stop someone from sliding in opposite him and he looks up, scowl pasted on his face. It melts into a look of surprise when he sees Eggsy settling in. 

 

Eggsy’s blue-green eyes are blazing, boring into Harry’s with an intensity he wouldn’t have expected. 

 

For a second, Harry is struck dumb; it’s not often he finds himself speechless, but this is the last person he expected to see. Or rather, the last person Harry expected to see  _ him _ . “Hello,” he manages to say after a moment, relaxing his hold on his glass. 

 

“You wanna tell me who the fuck you are and why you’re followin’ me?” Eggsy hisses, voice low. He leans over the table, casting a quick glance at the other patrons to make sure none of them are paying any attention.

 

Harry’s only answer is a raised eyebrow. When Eggsy only continues to glare at him, Harry lets out a short sigh, tapping one finger against the side of his glass. “Care for a drink?” 

 

Eggsy’s lip curls into a snarl but he remains silent. 

 

Not going to give, then. Harry clears his throat, folding his arms over the tabletop and leaning in conspiratorially. As soon as he does, Eggsy edges backwards, suddenly on the defensive. “A shame. They have a good Guinness here.” He tries a small smile but it’s met by more of the same, stony silence. “As for following you, I’m afraid you must have me confused with somebody else.”

 

Eggsy closes his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose. When he opens them, they’re full of accusation. “No scent is just as obvious as a scent, bruv.” 

 

Momentarily taken aback, Harry slides right into a half-formed excuse, solidifying it as he goes along. One shoulder lifts in a shrug, lips quirking up in amusement. “Then I suppose us betas are just going to have to deal with being found out,” he quips, taking a sip of his Guinness, staring at Eggsy over the rim of his glass. 

 

“Except you ain’t a beta.” Eggsy says it with complete confidence, leaning back in. 

 

“You know that for a fact, do you?” Harry says blithely, not abandoning his cover just yet. 

 

There’s not even a flicker of doubt. Eggsy just gives one sharp nod, hard eyes challenging Harry to disagree. 

 

Harry stares back at him for a bit before leaning against the back of the booth, one hand still propped lazily on the table, hand curled around his glass. “Alright, then. What gave me away?” 

 

“You,” Eggsy says, smug smile spreading over his face. “Just now.” 

 

Harry finds himself at a loss for words for the second time in as many minutes. He doesn’t have to come up with anything anyways; Eggsy speaks before he can scrape together a thought. 

 

“Now tell me why the fuck you were followin’ me,” he demands, fingers gripping the edge of the table. 

 

Harry notices it, notices the tension in his shoulders despite the brazen look on Eggsy’s face. He’s terrified, that much is clear. Whoever he thinks Harry is, it isn’t good. Suddenly, Harry knows exactly what to say. “I knew your father.” 

 

The effect is immediate. Eggsy blinks, jaw falling open slightly, his grip on the table falling away. “You… you knew my dad?” he finally asks, gnawing at his lip anxiously. “Was you in the army with him or somethin’?” 

 

One side of Harry’s mouth curls into a small, secret smile. “Something like that,” he says. All traces of amusement evaporate and he glances down into the depths of his beer before he continues. “He died saving my life. I owe him a debt I could never repay, but I thought… Well. I remembered him mentioning he had a son and I thought maybe I could do something for  _ you _ .” He looks up at Eggsy, blinking expectantly. 

 

Eggsy’s nose crinkles and he drags his eyes over Harry, leaning back until he’s pressed up against the back of the booth. “Yeah, I bet you did,” he mutters disdainfully. 

 

Harry’s brows draw together. “Excuse me?” He doesn’t know exactly what reaction he’d been expecting, but this attitude of pure disgust isn’t it. 

 

“C’mon,” Eggsy scoffs. “You ain’t bonded, gettin’ up there in years, and you suddenly remember some old friend of yours had a son. You come check me out and see I ain’t bonded neither. ‘S pretty clear what you thought you could  _ do for me _ ,” he says acidly. As he speaks, his hand automatically creeps upwards, curling around his neck. 

 

Harry has just enough time to see that there’s nothing there, no sign of the bite he knows he saw before Eggsy’s hand covers it completely. “That isn’t what I was suggesting.” 

 

Eggsy doesn’t drop his hand, just keeps glaring at him from across the table. “Nah? Then what  _ was _ you thinkin’?”  

 

“I was thinking more along the lines of a favor,” Harry says. He watches shock flit briefly across Eggsy’s face before wariness overtakes it and a pang of pity shoots through him. 

 

“What kind of favor?” Eggsy asks, voice a touch quieter than it had been before, a bit less accusatory. 

 

“Anything you need might need. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to help, but I can promise to do what I can,” Harry says earnestly, watching as Eggsy’s eyes shift from flat to thoughtful. 

 

Slowly he uncurls, his hand falling away from his neck. “Yeah, I guess that’d be alright. Probably won’t take you up on it or anythin’, but thanks.” 

 

Harry reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, drawing out a card. He hunts down a pen as well, scribbling a number on the back of the card and offering it out to Eggsy. “That’s my personal number,” he informs him. “If you ever need me just call, any time of the day or night. It can’t possibly pay back what your father did for me, but it’s a start.” He offers him an apologetic smile.

 

Hesitantly, Eggsy reaches out to take the card from him, half expecting him to snatch it back and declare that this has all been a big joke. But Harry hands it over easily, watching Eggsy as he flips it over, inspecting the front as well as the back. 

 

Eggsy looks up at him through his lashes, desire clashing with mistrust. “Kingsman?” he asks, noting the address. Savile Row isn’t the type of place omegas like him frequent. 

 

“My shop. I work as a tailor,” Harry tells him, gesturing to the suit he wears, so out of place in the dingy pub. “You’re welcome to come visit whenever you’d like.” 

 

Eggsy grimaces. He couldn’t afford to breathe the air in a fancy tailor shop, let alone anything else and he stuffs the card in his pocket. He slides out of the booth, standing and gnawing on his bottom lip as he glances uncertainly over at Harry. “Thanks for all of this, I guess. Just,” he pauses, seemingly looking for the right words, “stop followin’ me, yeah? I can take care of myself.” 

 

Harry dips his head, acknowledging the request. He has all the information he needs anyways. “Of course. Farewell, Eggsy.” 

 

With that, Eggsy is gone, turning his back on Harry and making his way out of the pub, unaware that Harry’s eyes are on him the whole time.


	6. Chapter 6

Eggsy shivers, wishing he hadn’t forgotten his jacket in the room of whatever bonding house he’d been in the night before. He hunches his shoulders against a fresh burst of wind, back scraping against the rough concrete of the stairwell. His shirt is too thin to offer much protection and he crosses his arms over his chest, fixing his eyes on his watch. Mentally counting down the seconds, he watches as the numbers flip over, ushering in the next hour. 

 

Sucking in a breath, he grazes his fingers over his neck, checking to make sure the skin is unbroken once more. When he doesn’t feel anything except smooth flesh, he pushes off the wall, finally making his way up the stairs. He digs his keys out of his pocket, fingers curled tightly around them as he pauses in front of the door, trying to work up the motivation to actually go in. 

 

Eventually, there’s nothing for it. Eggsy unlocks the door, wincing at the slight click he knows will alert Dean to his presence. Sure enough, the alpha’s head swivels towards Eggsy as soon as he steps inside, an ugly scowl already pasted on his face. 

 

“The fuck you been all night?” Dean growls, hauling himself to his feet. “You ain’t tryin’ to skip out on rent are you, boy?” 

 

Eggsy meets Dean’s glare with one of his own, lip curling up in a sneer, the closest thing he can get to defiance. “I’ve got your fuckin’ money,” he snaps. He digs a crumpled wad of bills out of his pocket and holds it out to Dean. 

 

Dean snatches it out of Eggsy’s hand, combing through it thoroughly. Satisfied after his third count he grunts, giving Eggsy a begrudging nod. “Dunno where the hell you’re gettin’ all this, but keep it up. Heard rent might be goin’ up soon.” 

 

The grin Dean gives Eggsy is nothing short of vicious and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from doing something rash. 

 

“Eggsy!” 

 

Eggsy’s irritation evaporates in an instant. 

 

Michelle stands in the doorway of the bedroom she shares with Dean, her face lit up in a genuine smile. 

 

Eggsy skirts past the sofa Dean’s sprawled on, allowing his mother to pull him into a hug. 

 

“I was so worried about you, babes,” Michelle says, drawing back and giving Eggsy a once-over as if to make sure he’s come back to her as whole as she left him. Her eyes linger a second too long on his neck, but her relieved smile comes back as soon as she meets his gaze. “Usually you call if you’re gonna be out all night.” 

 

Eggsy submits easily to her fussing, giving her a weary half-smile in return. One shoulder lifts in a shrug and he buries his hands in his pockets. “Battery’s dead,” he explains. 

 

Michelle scoffs but she doesn’t push it, just reaches up to brush a lock of hair out of his face. “Just be careful, yeah? You know how much you mean to Dean and me.” 

 

Barely managing to suppress a snort of disbelief, Eggsy inclines his head. “I’ll be careful, mum,” he promises. 

 

This seems to satisfy Michelle and she joins Dean on the sofa. His hand immediately settles on her upper thigh, creeping higher. 

 

Eggsy shuts himself up in his bedroom after that, pressing his back against the door. His head falls back, hitting the wood with a soft thump, and his breath leaves him in a long sigh. He shifts his weight slightly and something brushes against his fingers. Brow furrowing, he pulls his hand out of his pocket and finds himself staring down at the business card the man in the pub had given him. 

 

Eggsy had almost forgotten about it, the mysterious man (Harry Hart, judging by the name he’d scribbled under his number) who’d dropped into his life out of nowhere. Eggsy runs his thumb along the edge of the card, mind churning with possibilities. Harry had said he could ask for  _ anything _ . 

 

But the man is a complete stranger; Eggsy had never heard his father mention a Hart, or even a Harry for that matter. Nothing is free either, no matter what all that bullshit about owing his father had been. His stomach twists at the thought of what Harry might expect as payment for that little favor of his. 

 

Sighing, Eggsy tosses the card into his wastebasket, dropping heavily onto his bed. He can hear the telly through the thin walls, gunshots and screams from some B-list action film echoing in his head. He rolls over to lay on his side and stares blankly at the wall. 

 

There’s the sound of beer bottles clinking, the sofa creaking as the two bodies on it shift. Michelle’s stuttering laugh rings out and the low murmur of Dean’s voice follows but it’s too soft for him to make out. The sofa creaks again and one of them must have hit the remote because the gunfire gives way to a singular speaker, some televised sermon where the pastor’s going on and on about the inevitable fires of hell. Whatever Dean and Michelle are doing, they’re too involved to notice. 

 

Eggsy’s fingers dig into his mattress, eyes still fixed firmly on the wall before him. Soft moans start to filter in, past the preacher’s words, and all he can think is ‘ _ what does God need hell for? _ ’ 

 

-

There’s a routine to this and Eggsy takes comfort in that. Routine is familiar. Routine is safe. And so far, routine has kept him alive. As long as he sticks to it things will be… not okay, exactly, but manageable.

 

It’s simple enough. Alphas are willing to pay for unbonded omegas, willing to pay a lot more if that omega promises they can bond with them. Some of them are desperate enough to go for it, wanting to take advantage of all the perks that come along with a bond. Eggsy commands a high price, high enough to keep the rent coming in, keep him off the streets, keep him with his mum. All it takes is a few nights and he’s secure for another month. 

 

Eggsy always ducks out the morning after, ignoring the empty tug in his gut and the doubt whispering that if he just  _ stays _ maybe, for once, the bond will stick. But he never does and it never does. He waits outside the flat until everything is back to normal before going in. Simple. 

 

Except. Except Dean’s left the flat early for once. Except Dean spots him leaning against the wall, sees the mark on his neck. 

 

Eggsy scrambles to hide it, tugging his hood over his head and pulling the sides closer, sealing the bite away from sight, but it’s too late. The look in Dean’s eyes says that he knows exactly what he just saw. 

 

“Finally gone and found someone who’ll take you, eh, Muggsy?” Dean sniggers, a nasty grin on his face. “‘Bout time you got the hell out of my flat.” 

 

Fear spikes through Eggsy. He can’t leave. He doesn’t have any place to go. But he also can’t justify staying, not when he supposedly has an alpha to take care of him. Carefully schooling his face into a cool indifference, Eggsy jerks his chin up. “Mum up there? Might need her help packin’ and all.” His mind is racing, trying to come up with some excuse as to why he has to stay but there’s nothing. 

 

The worst of it isn’t even what will happen to him. Eggsy will scrape by somehow, he always does, but he has to leave his mum with  _ Dean _ . His throat closes up but he forces down his panic. Minute by minute, that’s how he has to take this. Eventually, Eggsy will have time to sit down and think, plan something out, but for now he has to just get through the next few hours. 

 

“Sleepin’,” Dean tells him. He doesn’t say anything more, just glances one last time at Eggsy’s neck before shooting him another grin and stumbling off. 

 

As soon as he’s out of sight, Eggsy reaches for the stairwell railing, knuckles turning white as he doubles over and tries to suck in air. He squeezes his eyes shut, and waits until the thudding beat of his heart dies down a little before he straightens up again. 

 

Out of habit he checks his watch, mentally tallying up the hours. 40 minutes. Why couldn’t Dean have waited 40 fucking more minutes before getting a new pack of cigs, or beer, or whatever the hell he’s off to buy? But what’s done is done, and Eggsy can’t afford to stand out here doing nothing. 

 

He hurries up the stairs, stopping outside of the flat. Holding his breath, he presses his ear to the wood, straining to hear something, anything beyond it. His mother, it seems, is still asleep. Eggsy breathes a sigh of relief. Carefully he unlocks the door and slips inside, closing the door as silently as he can behind him. 

 

Michelle shifts in her sleep, the groaning of the box spring filtering out to her son, who freezes in his tracks. When no more sounds are forthcoming, Eggsy releases the breath he’d been holding, edging his way towards his own room. The beginnings of a plan are forming in his mind, but he has to move quickly, before Dean gets back or his mum wakes. 

 

As soon as Eggsy reaches his bedroom, he swings the door shut, dropping to his knees beside the wastebasket. It’s in here somewhere, he knows it is. He sifts through empty bottles and plastic wrappers until a flash of white catches his eye. Relief floods through him as he holds up the business card, flipping it over to see the number on the back. It’s quickly followed by a near-paralyzing panic; there’s no guarantee that Harry will do what he’s going to ask of him. There’s certainly no reason why he  _ should, _ beyond the strange sense of obligation he seems to feel towards Lee, long dead at this point. 

 

Eggsy stares at the number until it seems to swim off the paper. Blinking brings it back into focus, and he realizes he’s wasting time. He can at least try. He refuses to think about what he’ll do if this doesn’t work, won’t let himself get even more worked up. 

 

Eggsy dials the number with shaking fingers. He clutches the phone like a lifeline, pressing it to his ear, and willing Harry to pick up. “Please, please,” Eggsy whispers, eyes squeezed shut. It seems to ring forever, even though it’s really only once or twice. Then there’s a click, and his heart stutters before rocketing up into his throat. 

 

“Hello? Harry Hart speaking,” comes a familiar voice on the other side of the line, and Eggsy sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to hold back a sob. 

 

Words fail him. He finds himself kneeling on the floor, mouth open but unmoving, brain scrambling to piece together a sentence. 

 

“Hello? Is there anyone there?” Harry asks after a beat. 

 

He can’t hang up, Eggsy has to say  _ something _ . “Harry,” he says desperately and it comes out half-choked, strangled. 

 

There’s a brief pause and then Harry prompts, somewhat hesitantly, “Yes?” 

 

“Harry,” Eggsy breathes and the mind-numbing anxiety that has overtaken him leaves him in a rush. He slumps over, hand bracing against his knee. “Mr. Hart, sorry. It’s me. Eggsy. Unwin. The guy you met in the pub a couple weeks back?” Internally cursing himself for babbling uselessly, he clears his throat. 

 

“Hello, Eggsy,” Harry says, and Eggsy thinks he’s probably just imagining the warmth he hears in Harry’s voice. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t call.” 

 

Eggsy hadn’t been planning on it but desperate times. “Yeah, sorry, I… it doesn’t matter. I need your help.” He makes sure to keep his voice low. The walls are thin, and he can’t risk waking Michelle up before he gets this out. 

 

Harry speaks again, voice tinged with amusement and something else, something Eggsy can’t quite identify. “I did promise you anything.” There’s a brief pause and Harry opens his mouth to ask if everything’s okay, but Eggsy speaks before he can. 

 

“I need you to pretend to be my alpha.” It all comes out in one big rush and Eggsy bites down on his lip again once he says it, the silence on the other end of the line plucking at his nerves. The reply isn’t at all what he’s expecting. 

 

“Alright.” 

 

Eggsy blinks, taken aback. Surely it can’t be that easy. He hasn’t even explained the situation yet. “...Yeah? I mean, you’re sure?” he asks, barely able to believe it. A slice of suspicion edges into his mind but he’ll deal with that later. For now, he’s going to take what he can get. 

 

“I’m sure,” Harry says, no trace of hesitation in his voice. “Just tell me what you need me to do.” 

 

-

By the time there’s a knock at the door, the bite has already started to fade. It exists only as a red mark, a couple shallow indentations here and there. By the time Dean gets back it’ll probably be gone altogether. 

 

Eggsy scrambles to answer the door before Michelle, who he can hear stirring in the bed. He flings open the door to find Harry dressed just as he was before, looking far calmer than he should be, given the situation they’re in. Or rather, the situation Eggsy is in. He wraps his hand around Harry’s tie, using it to tug him down into an impromptu kiss for the benefit of his mum who’s just shuffled into the room. 

 

It’s awkward and unplanned, but Harry--thankfully--goes along with it without question. He doesn’t even seem all that surprised. Instead he falls immediately into the role of an alpha, an arm sliding around the small of Eggsy’s back and pulling him closer.

 

Michelle’s startled gasp behind them has Eggsy drawing back, eyes lingering almost questioningly on Harry’s face. But the older man doesn’t miss a beat, glancing up and giving her a charming smile. 

 

“You must be Mrs. Unwin,” he says, dipping his head to her politely. 

 

Michelle’s eyes flick back and forth between him and Eggsy, brow furrowing. “Eggsy?” she finally manages to ask. “Who’s this?” 

 

Eggsy reaches up quickly, fingers checking his skin. Smooth and unbroken. He turns to face her, plastering a smile on his face that he knows isn’t very convincing. The fact that she’s only just woken up might work in his favor. “Mum, this is Harry. Harry, mum.” He glances up at Harry as he gestures to Michelle, trying to look like he’s infatuated. 

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Harry says, offering her his hand. 

 

Michelle looks a bit dazed but she accepts it all the same, obviously still trying to puzzle out what connection this man has to her son. 

 

Eggsy’s heart thuds against his ribcage and he darts a nervous glance at the door. Dean could be back at any minute, and Eggsy needs to be long gone before then. “This is… well, he’s gonna be…” He places his hand on Harry’s chest, tucking himself into him so he at least  _ looks _ convincing, even if he doesn’t sound like it. 

 

“Your alpha,” Michelle breathes, eyes widening slightly as she figures it out. They fix on Harry’s face with a greater intensity, as if she can discern his character just by looking. 

 

Harry doesn’t try to avoid her gaze, just meets it steadily, one arm still wrapped around Eggsy. 

 

After a moment Eggsy remembers that they  _ are _ under a time constraint, and he pulls himself away from Harry. “Anyways, mum, just thought I should tell you before we head off,” he says, an apologetic smile on his lips. 

 

That grabs her attention and she swings back to look at him, brow furrowing. “Head off?” she echoes. 

 

Harry clears his throat. “He will, of course, be living with me. I have plenty of room for him and you’ll be welcome to visit any time you like.” 

 

Eggsy glances up at him sharply. He can’t very well tell his mum not to visit outright, but if she does decide to take Harry up on his offer she’s going to be very confused when she arrives only to find he isn’t there. 

 

Michelle is already nodding, hand resting at the base of her throat. The very tips of her fingers rest against the bottom edge of her own bite mark. “Yes… yes, of course. Can I just have a moment alone with him?” she asks, looking up pleadingly at Harry. 

 

Nodding, Harry lets his hand fall away from Eggsy, shooting him a reassuring smile before stepping out of the flat. 

 

Eggsy relaxes a little bit once the door closes behind him. Harry was more convincing than he’d expected, but he’d half suspected him to confess that it was all an act. His mother spreads her arms, and he steps into them, wrapping his own around her. He fights past the sudden lump in his throat, curling his fingers into the fabric of her shirt like he used to when he was a kid. “I love you, mum,” he whispers. 

 

“I love you too, Eggsy,” she whispers back, pulling back and giving him something resembling a smile. “I’ll come see you soon, yeah?” 

 

Eggsy just ducks his head, sucking in a deep breath, and making for his bedroom. He’d filled a backpack after he’d gotten off the phone with Harry, packing up as much as he could fit inside it. Slinging it over his shoulder, he trudges back through the living room, fear simmering just beneath his skin. He’s walking into nowhere, leaving what little family he has behind. He forces himself to wave a quick goodbye to his mum before stepping outside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is all I got. I don't know if I'll ever write more of this, but here it is as it is.

As the days ticked by Harry had begun to wonder if he’d made a mistake in cutting his observation and depending on the call. The call that did not seem to be very forthcoming. 

 

Merlin, too, was beginning to get a little edgy. “We need him, Harry. I don’t have to tell you how useful an omega like that could be.” 

 

“I’m aware,” Harry growls, frustration in every syllable. He stares at the phone and silently wills it to ring, but it doesn’t bend to his wishes. 

 

And then, one day, it does. He waits until a few rings have passed so as not to seem too eager, forcing himself to be calm as he answers. “Hello? Harry Hart speaking.” Only silence answers him. “Hello? Is there anyone there?” 

 

“Harry,” says a voice on the other end of the line. It has to be Eggsy; the only other person with the number to his personal line is Merlin, but he doesn’t sound like the confident young man he’d met before. 

 

“Yes?” he asks, imagination producing hundreds of undesirable situations in which someone else had acquired the card he’d given Eggsy.  

 

“Harry. Mr. Hart, sorry. It’s me. Eggsy. Unwin. The guy you met in the pub a couple weeks back?” 

 

That washes away any doubts Harry might have had, and a smile spreads over his face as he leans back, settling into his chair. “Hello, Eggsy. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t call.” 

 

“Yeah, sorry, I… it doesn’t matter. I need your help.”

 

And Harry knows he’s in. 

 

-

It’s easy enough to step into the role of alpha. He’s seen the actions of the best, the worst, and everything in between. Eggsy doesn’t seem to slip into his part quite as well, always tense under Harry’s touch, never quite relaxing. 

 

Michelle, thankfully, doesn’t notice and soon enough they’re both heading down the stairs. Harry, comms link activated so Merlin can listen in on their conversation, decides now is as good a time as any to ask for an explanation. 

 

Eggsy’s shoulders hunch and he concentrates on walking, refusing to look over at Harry. 

 

Harry waits patiently, glancing over every so often. Eggsy quiet for so long that Harry wonders if he’s going to refuse to say anything at all. Then Eggsy sucks in a deep breath. 

 

“It don’t work for me,” he says. “The way it does for other people.” His eyes dart up to Harry’s for a second, flashing back down just as quickly. 

 

“What doesn’t work for you?” Harry prompts when it becomes clear Eggsy’s not going to say anything more. 

 

“The whole bonding thing.” And his hands are at his neck, rubbing at the spot where Harry had seen teeth marks a little over a week before. It’s completely bare now, no sign that that night, that that alpha, had ever happened. “That’s how it’s supposed to work, innit? You get bitten and then that alpha’s yours and you’re theirs. That’s how it’s supposed to  _ be _ .” The last is muttered through clenched teeth, Eggsy’s fingers tightening around the strap of his backpack. 

 

They reach another landing, turning to make their way down the next flight of stairs. “And that’s not how it is for you?” Harry asks quietly. 

 

Eggsy shakes his head. “Don’t even know how many times I’ve been bitten by now,” he says. “It takes seven hours, that’s it. Once those are up it goes away and I ain’t bonded to them no more.” He stops abruptly, hand shooting out to wrap around Harry’s arm and bring him to a halt as well. 

 

Harry turns to face him, slightly startled by the sudden movement. 

 

“I ain’t told no one about this,” he says, voice low and urgent. “Only the alphas who’ve bitten me. My mum and Dean don’t know. I… I dunno what he’d do to me if he did.” A shudder runs through his body and he has to take a deep breath before he continues. “Dean saw me with a bite this mornin’, that’s why I needed you.” 

 

Eggsy’s eyes bore into his, and Harry has to hold back a smile, knowing it would be wildly inappropriate. This is everything Merlin had hoped for. And more. Harry was the first person Eggsy had turned to which meant he didn’t have anyone else he trusted more to help him. Schooling his face into a blank mask, Harry nods gravely. “I understand.” 

 

They start moving again. Harry doesn’t say anything more until they reach the bottom, stepping off the last stair. 

 

“Eggsy…” He notices the boy’s eyes sharpen at the nickname. “You do go by Eggsy, don’t you?” He waits for Eggsy’s sullen nod before continuing. “Do you have a place to stay?” His voice is soft but not pitying; he suspects Eggsy neither wants nor needs his pity. 

 

There’s a long stretch of hesitant silence before Eggsy nods again, eyes fixing on the pavement below them. 

 

“You can stay with me,” he finds himself saying. 

 

Eggsy’s head whips up and he opens his mouth, probably to protest. 

 

Harry doesn’t give him the chance, can’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. “I’m not saying permanently,” he hastens to clarify. “Just for a couple of days until you can find someplace suitable. I meant what I said to your mother, there’s more than enough room for just me; I’m not home much besides.”

 

Uncertainty flares to life in Eggsy’s eyes and he takes to worrying his lip again. Whatever internal battle he’s fighting it takes a few minutes to resolve until his shoulders slump forward. “Yeah, I think I’ll take you up on that.” He meets his eyes, straightening up again. “Thanks, Harry.” 

  
Harry gives him the same charming smile he’d given Michelle only a few minutes before. “My pleasure.” 


End file.
